Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
The Old Farm
Going out to the old farm where my grandparents live was the best treat ever. Especially when it was time to pick the fruit from their bountiful orchard of fruit trees. There were pear trees and plum trees, and apple trees, peach trees, and apricot trees. You could smell the ripeness from the fruit all the way from the road before even entering the farm. The sweet smell of ripe fruit is what I will always remember throughout my life.
Coming Home Again - Part VII
Andy Noble was a seasoned farmer who had won prizes in the local fair seven times for 'best in category'. Some of his cows, pigs, and horses who never carried home the #1 Winner's Trophy had taken second or third place.
I'm Pretty Sure I May Have Just Become A Terrible Grandparent
It was hot as hell, and I couldn't believe they didn't sit our group inside. Yet here we were, sitting in a covered patio with old school fans blowing warm air on us on a 95 degree Texas summer afternoon. And worse than that is we were about to be served some chips and salsa.
The stars in the night’s sky have never shone as bright as since that night they tap danced across the pond's blackened ice. Sparkling and spinning mirror balls casting light in the dim night, the constellations dazzled but she closed her eyes. She recalled his scent securing its imprint in her bank of memory. He wore cologne that suggested mystery and debonair but revealed the back woods, nature loving country boy for whom he was reared. He was all of the above plus. The patriarch of the family was admired by all and hundreds arrived from near and far to pay their respects. She was a proud granddaughter and a grieving granddaughter. The air was crisp and nipped at her nose urging for her to return to the warmth in the home. Shivering in the cold, she took one last look at the frozen mass that once was a vibrant pond that grew into a lake and made the decision to go inside and engage.
The early winter storm brought several inches of snow. A beautiful blanket covered the fields and decorated the boughs of the trees. The roof of the old barn sagged a little under the weight of white snow that beautifully framed the fading red of the vertical planks of siding on the old barn. Morning sun and cold air combined to create icicles hanging from the eaves of the little white house snuggled into the edge of the woods. The rails of Grandpa's pioneer fence of lashed limbs lined with fresh snow and tree-trunk fence posts with white tufts atop each one added a rustic detail to the bucolic scene. Grandma's flower kettle was mounded with snow in place of her summer marigolds. The yard that had been glowing green and yellow with flashes of light from fireflies was now covered by that beautiful white blanket. Nature's fury painted a picture of beauty draped in a wonderful way upon the features of the farm and the woods around it.
I've Known He Was Racist Since I Knew What Racism Was
I was twenty. At a hotel, on vacation, in a mostly White area. We walked across the courtyard of the hotel and passed a young Black woman who had just sat down in one of the chairs, looking at her phone. A total stranger; presumably another guest on vacation.
A Tuesday Night in June
Beverly Hills is a long way from Long Island. Anthony had swung me madly to the sound of Charlie Parker for hours in a musty bar on the east side of the island, where soldiers were looking for affection they’d been starved of for years. Grenades had permanently threatened their heart space and rifles left unshakeable impressions of what it meant to abandon their humanity, while also being forced to fight for it. But time did what it always does and moved on. It was 1945, the war was over and we were alive and well. Arm in arm, swinging ‘round and ‘round, dipping deeply, stopping only to guzzle back more malty beer.
Coming Home Again - Part VI
“Sometimes you just have to meet your problems head-on”. The words Dustin had heard upwards of a thousand times from Grandpa Wilbur kept whirling around in his mind.
Glenn and Betty Weber
This is a picture I have never seen, until this day. I was writing a shortened down version of my life, when I started really missing my Grandma and Grandpa and I went searching the internet for them. I have to say, with respect to those we have loved and lost, finding information and record on the internet is something of beauty. I cannot thank those who made this possible, enough. I also want to thank my cousin Alicia Weber, who's Facebook page was the source for this photo. Thank you so much.
I wondered why we had not seen papa Sylvester more than once in our lives. He arrived at our door in Milwaukee on a moderately cold and gray day in October of 1965. As I remember he was the same height as my father about 5’10” and a little bit thinner. My father was 5’10” weighed about 170-180 lbs. this is what I heard my mother say. As a child you do not really notice weight unless someone is extremely thin or fat. His complexion was very fair about two shades lighter than my dad’s (who was on the light side as we say in the black community) other than that their faces were the same. All the same features, wide noses, strong cheek bones and they both had a very bright and huge smile.
May all your lights be green
It was a quiet ride home from The Frog Pond Restaurant. Mary’s morning sickness had brought a quick end to their first anniversary dinner. She was leaning toward me, but not on me, like she would have back in 50’s and 60’s, when bench seats in the front of most cars, afforded a green light for passion to continue, even while driving. She held my arm and closed her eyes, as it began to rain, and I was annoyed, not distracted by the trinket swinging from the rearview mirror. It was a mini replica of a hanging traffic light, yellow in color and only different by the fact that all three lights were green, a little tag read, “May all your lights be green”. Each time a car would come toward us, their headlights would illuminate the green light, and reflect on my beautiful wife’s face.
I Had to Take a Job I Never Applied For
My unopened Tito's Vodka bottle mocks me from its perch on the top shelf. It is nestled neatly next to the unopened Jose Cuervo Silver Blue Agave bottle. A light dusting covers the three bottles of La Crema Pinot Noir.